


Something

by Lupienne



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (Comics), The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: AU, Dark fic, Final showdown, Negan - Freeform, Rick - Freeform, comic spoilers - sort of, death fight, non-regan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-30 11:11:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14495679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lupienne/pseuds/Lupienne
Summary: Negan and Rick Grimes. Their final confrontation.





	Something

So, here we are again, me and motherfucking Rick Grimes. Our relationship has always been volatile. And on my end, I think I'm a pretty fucking forgiving person. Rick has wronged me, killed my people, took away my Sanctuary, imprisoned me. But whatever... I never held a grudge. Because like I told him, _I'm a special kind of person, I don't fucking rattle._

So for years, we were in and out of each other's sights. And after all I've done for him, and all I _haven't_ done to him, it's a damn shame it has to come to this.

But here we are, on the final battlefield. This time, there will be no mercy from either of us. This can only end in death.

We're in the middle of fucking nowhere. Some kind of field with long grass. The autumn trees on fire on the horizon line. The sky is blue but frigid, the air as cold as a witch's tit. We're both blowing out big clouds of steam. I'm standing with Lucille, he's got a fucking hatchet.

What a joke. His dinky fucking axe, his stupid claw arm, and bum leg? I would tell him he's not got a chance in fucking hell, but I think he knows, and maybe I shouldn't disgrace him any more. Let him die fighting. He deserves that, at least.

I know he'd prefer to shoot me again, end me quick, but his gun has clicked empty. I've thrown off my coat, taken off my scarf to wrap the bullet graze across my ribs. I'm bleeding into the red fabric, but I'll live.

"You sure you want to fucking do this?" I take Lucille off my shoulder, ready her in both hands.

He doesn't grant me a response. He always thought he was too fucking good to talk to me.

"Fuck you, then. Prick." I roll my eyes, and circle him. He grips the hatchet in his flesh hand, his claw hand held out protectively. I'll knock the fucking thing right off his body. Heh. Good idea. Lucille's thirst has never lessened over all these years. She's gouged and nicked and has seen much better days, my fuckin' old bitch, but she's always ready for more.

I swing and he deflects with the arm. It knocks him back and he grunts, wincing in pain. He wildly swings the hatchet and I easily turn my body aside.

Ok, I lied. Maybe I will taunt this fucker a little. "Getting winded, Pawpaw? We just fuckin' started!"

He barely gets the claw arm around in time to block Lucille's next swing. His own arm collides into his side, and he nearly falls to the ground. He scrambles back, ducking to avoid my attempt to bash his fucking dome in. I draw close to him, and he keeps going back. But he's so damn slow, and clumsy on his fucked-up knee. He trips. I bring Lucille down. Let's get this shit over with. I don't want to draw this out.

Rick grips his hatchet in both hands. The handle held horizontal to his body. Raising it up to absorb Lucille's blow. She cracks down on this stout, hardened wooden handle. It's such a vicious hit, it drives Rick's arms back, and Lucille's barbs sink into his chest. He screams. But the blow was absorbed, and worse... worse...

I'm screaming too.

It was bound to happen. She's been rode so hard and put away wet so many fucking times. Lucille's memory is immortal in my mind. Forever a presence, floating like a ghost on the back of my eyelids. I put her essence into this bat, to give myself some distance from her, to make her the shrine she deserves.

Her memory is immortal.

Her wooden flesh is not.

It's finally happened. As she collided with the hatchet handle, Lucille's body has shattered in my hands. My Vicious Lady, her broken body buried in a barbed wire cage.

I stagger backwards, eyes wide. Gaping at her. Dropping her to the ground, my hands trembling from the impact. "N-n-no. Lucille..."

I'm on my knees, frantically trying to collect the pieces of her. "No...No...goddammit. No. Please..." This air is so goddamn cold, the wind so fucking bitter, it's blowing into my eyes, it's making them water down my fucking cheeks.

I can't believe the fucking noises coming from my throat. She's falling through my hands. A dying animal groan, a whimper. I rip my gloves off, getting cut on barbed wire, but I can grip onto her better.

I can't even see anymore. I'm not here. I'm back there. I'm fucking back there - seeing it again.

* * *

 

_'Negan, watch out.'_

_'I can kill them. Get behind me.'_

_There's too many, we have to run._

_We fucking ran. We got to a fence. Lucille went over first._

_My greed killed her. I had latched a hand onto the fence, when I looked to the side and saw some poor fuck who'd been torn apart by the dead, but left a perfectly good backpack of shit beside their devoured corpse. Fuck yeah. I hoisted it onto my shoulder, and when I looked forward -_

_Lucille was running back to me, and there was a group of dead closing in on her._

_'Shit. Hurry the fuck up!'_

_She got to the fence, and started to climb, but they were there - they were on her. And I should've been on the other side with her, fighting for her. Dying with her._

* * *

"You are pathetic."

I know I am. I failed to protect her.

"Why did you always have to fight? Why couldn't you just fucking _stop?"_

How can I stop? If you stop, you die.

* * *

_She's being taken away from me, piece by piece. Her arm reaching through the chain link, fingers clawing. Pressing herself to the mesh, her eyes on me, like she can't look away, like she needs to see me, memorize me before she dies -_

_They're ripping her clothes off, they're biting into those perfect breasts, gray hands and cracked nails dug into her ribs._

_I can't- I can't watch this_

_..._

_I can't live._

_I start to climb. I will join her._

_She screams, before their hands have sunk into her chest cavity, before her lungs deflate._

_'No, no, don't you dare, Negan. Go, go.'_

_She'd always told me, with a light in her eyes, with what I believed to be naive optimism, but I couldn't bear to contradict her, I couldn't bring her down to reality..._

_...'You're going to be something in this world.'_

_And then she's gone. Pulled down into them, sinking into an ocean of red._

* * *

I remember something from years ago. Back when I was Something. Was it Something Lucille would be proud of? I don't know.

I'd had Rick on his knees, I was the King of Big Shit Mountain. Running my fucking big mouth off. The blood of some Asian punk all over me. I couldn't ever take this shit seriously. It's a fucking game, it's a fucking necessary Check Mate. Distance yourself, and you can't feel a goddamn thing.

Rick's crying pathetic man tears. Shit, he is one sorry fuck. _I'm gonna kill you,_ he'd vowed to me.

And I smirked. _Go ahead._ Arms spread wide. Take your best shot, motherfucker. _Stand up and put a knife in my throat._

Well, he'd certainly done that. I still have the scar across my neck to prove it.

_Drive an axe into my face. Go ahead..._

* * *

One of Lucille's shattered pieces pierces into my hand. Drawing blood in a sharp, startling pain. She is warning me.

Shit. Shit.

This was a death match. And I'm on my knees, with splinters of wood cradled in my bare hands. _Get the fuck up, Negan. Now._

I raise my head, and Rick is standing there over me, his eyes burning.

He's already swinging his arm.

I see a blur of steel. There's this strange motherfucking 'thud'. Like the sound a hollow gourd makes, or a pumpkin when you splat it on the ground. The impact shudders through my entire body.

I feel it, strangely, in my stomach first, and then there's a weird rush downwards, just warmth, all in my stomach and thighs and groin. I've probably just fucking embarrassed myself. That was an odd fucking sensation.

I try to stand - it's time to end this fucking fight - but my knees wobble as if the joints have been removed.

I claw out at Rick, but it seems like all my strength is deflating, pissing away out of my veins. My arms come back down, bracing on the earth. As they touch the ground, and my head bows, so fucking heavy -

The pain hits. Flaring in the center of my forehead. Pain. Pain. _Pain._ Oh fuck. I've never felt anything like-

A weird, groaning cry is in the air. Fuck! My skull is the world cracking open, the sky falling down! The world is drowned in blood - because all I can see is red.

Something is floating in front of my vision. I rear back, trying to claw at it, it's what hurts -

My fingers touch the handle of the hatchet. I feel Rick's foot on my shoulder. He's bracing himself against me. His fingers brush mine, knocking them away. And he's wrenching this fucking thing out of me.

I'm not in control of anything, most certainly not my fucking mouth. I'm crying out and I can't stop.

Rick gets his hatchet back, and I have to lay down. I don't have much choice. My body slumps over into the grass, and I vaguely feel its scratchy roughness against my arms.

Rick crouches before me. He's blurred, his eyes bright blue spots in the midst of his face. I thought I'd see triumph in the motherfuck's face if shit ever came to this. Jesus Christ, I'm an idiot.

He's watching me. Waiting for his punchline? Maybe he is. Just the right moment to really rub the salt into my gaping head wound. Right. I feel, far off, dreamlike, my body convulsing, my toes curling in my boots. Glug-glugging like a flopping fish. He's gonna laugh.

His mouth doesn't smile. He doesn't gloat. He is just sad, and worn.

Weary, like I am.

"It didn't have to come to this, Negan."

His face comes into focus. The world is bright. It feels warm, suddenly.

He looks it, he really does look it -

"I'm sorry."

Someone is coming up behind him. Her red hair blowing in clouds around her, her blue eyes pleading with me. I've disappointed her, again. I get up. It's time to follow her. I want to follow her.

She has her hand out, touching her fingertips to my chest, wailing at me.

_Don't you dare, Negan. Go, go._

_You're going to be something in this world._

Not this time, Lucille. I take her hand,

and sink down into the ocean of red with her.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I got the idea for this fic from two different thoughts. One: What if Negan's bat broke in the heat of battle? (Comic Spoilers: It does. However, I wrote this fic way before the issue in which Lucille breaks!)  
> Two: In issue #100, Negan tells Rick to 'go ahead and kill him.' He basically says 'put a knife in my throat, drive an axe into my face.' As comic (and now TV) fans now know, Negan DID get that knife to the throat. So I got the thought and fear... what if he gets that axe to the face too?   
> (I also wrote this quite a while before 'Here's Negan' and the canon depiction/death of Lucille was revealed. This was my AU take on her, just for this story.)  
> Thanks for reading as always!


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